


Interrupted

by mistyzeo



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Masturbation, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo





	Interrupted

It was barely morning when I awoke from a deeply erotic dream, the sun just beginning to brighten the sky outside my window. The curtains had not been drawn all the way, and through them I could see the faintly pink clouds and the fading stars against the lightening dome of the heavens. I lay still for a moment or two, enjoying the threads of that dream that tickled my mind and had set my cock at attention.

The air was warm, and so I pushed down the coverlet to my hips and languidly covered the bulge in my sleeping shirt with my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. The slow pleasure rolled its way up my spine, and I gripped myself tightly. The dream had been nondescript at first, just images my brain had collected over the last few weeks, since the last time I had indulged in this sort of self-abuse. I remembered bare wrists and a pretty mouth, a lithe figure and fine grey eyes— and as I kneaded my straining prick through the fabric of my nightshirt, I realised the collection was parts of a whole, and that I had been fantasizing, quite vividly by the end, about my friend.

I admit, it did not distress me as much as it ought to have done. We had lived together nearly six years, and I come to understand my attraction to him quite early in that time. But I had pushed it down, locked it away, knowing that it was not something to be acted on for more than a few reasons. Still, here, alone in my room, I allowed myself the lapse of control.

I squirmed, pulling my nightshirt up around my ribs, baring my cockstand to the morning air. I licked the tips of my fingers slid them slowly around the slick, exposed head, shivering at the pleasure. I gripped my prick and kept my eyes fixed lazily as I began to stroke it slowly. It twitched and leaked in my hand, spilling pre-ejaculate over my knuckles and making my strokes smoother, and I palmed my bare thigh with the other hand, digging my fingers into my flesh and reveling in the contrast of rough and gentle.

I thought about his smile, the secret turn of his lips that he graces me with when he is pleased. I thought about the expression of sheer pleasure and calm on his face when we are at the symphony and everything else disappears. I wished I could be the one to put such a look on his face. I imagined his eyes flashing with delight as I knelt before him on the sitting room rug and offered him my mouth.

My pace had increased, driven on my the dream and my fantasy, and now I was pulling at my cock with determination, the wave of my peak rising fast. My heart was pounding in my ears and the slick sound of my hand on myself was loud in the quiet room, which is how, I suppose, I missed the sound of my friend Sherlock Holmes charging up the narrow stairs to my second floor bedroom, until he was flinging open the door.

We both froze, him with his arms spread wide about to announce my necessary presence in some case of his, and me quite shamefully with my hand wrapped around my prick and my bedclothes and nightclothes all ahoo. He coloured quite dramatically, his eyes wide.

“I have interrupted you, I find,” he said, “please forgive me,” and he closed the door again abruptly. I lay in shock another long moment, my cock still aching for release, trying to imagine how to proceed. He had looked at me, and I had seen want in his eyes. I recognised it instantly, knowing that feeling of suppressed desire myself, and then I knew what I was going to do.

I was going to have Sherlock Holmes after all.


End file.
